


Just To Get A Reaction

by Ellie_East



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Drunk Murphy, Fingering, Hidden Relationship, Jealous Bellamy, M/M, Rashes, Roof Sex, Smut, This is basically shameless smut and crack, alcohol consumption, bad title pun is bad, idk - Freeform, poison ivy like reaction, porn with a little plot, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_East/pseuds/Ellie_East
Summary: Murphy and Bellamy have a lot of secret sex. Then some other stuff happens like rashes from poisonous vines and heavy drinking. That's about it really. (AKA this author has no idea what they're doing)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the anon tumblr prompt  
> "They have a sort of secret relationship (they have many sex) and don't talk of their feelings until someone flirt with Murphy and bellamy gets really possessive and jealous. Bonus if the others found out and be like wtf? I love your murphamy stuff and i'm sorry for the mistakes english is not my language"
> 
> And that why my work for this precious bean went from a barely 500 word one-shot to this hot mess.
> 
> ENJOY!

"You know," Murphy's low mumble against Bellamy's collarbone is interrupted by a poignant grind against his hips, "you've got a pretty shitty moral code for a King." 

Suddenly the heated pressure Murphy was very much appreciating down his front disappears.

"Seriously," Bellamy's snaps as his handsome features slip into utter disbelief, " _you’re_ going to judge me for my morals?"

"Yeah I am," Murphy teases back. Instead of chasing the warm heat of Bellamy’s mouth like the older teen probably expects, he decides to play a slower game. He casually leans back until he feels his shoulder blades bump into the drop ships cool outer wall.

"So what?" Murphy continues before loudly kissing his teeth.

A twist of something purely dark flickers over Bellamy’s freckle face before its chased away by a stern facade. Murphy’s made quick work of finding all his buttons. And pushing them. Repeatedly.

"You know," Bellamy surges forward to place one tree trunk of an arm by his friend’s cheek, the other falling by his hip, "you should really show me a little more respect."

Despite the overpowering show on Bellamy’s behalf, Murphy still got him in the palm of his hand now and they both secretly know it. "Of course, your majesty," he wickedly grins as he pushes onto his toes for an open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like the sweet berries Monroe sometimes forages.

It takes Bellamy a moment to gather his thoughts again, so Murphy takes the opportunity to lazily trial his lips down to the juncture between jaw and neck. Just the right pressure and Murphy can feel the tension leech out of Bellamy with every gentle slide of his tongue and drag of his teeth.

"I mean it," Bellamy snaps out of nowhere with a vicious shove to Murphy's chest. 

"Ow, jackass." Murphy hisses as his skull connects with the hard metal panel behind him. 

"Seriously Murphy, I've given everything," Bellamy has that infuriating  _I'm kind of sorry I did that but I kind of hope it hurt_ look on his face and it's just begging to connect with Murphy's fist. 

"Fuck off, Blake."

The pale boy tries to push the bulk of muscle away from him to no avail. He isn't going to just stand here while Bellamy tells him how indebted he is to his King so the douchebag has two seconds before the proverbial foot shoved in his mouth turns into a literal one slamming into his balls. 

"It's true," Bellamy breathes, his face suddenly far closer than before, "and you know it." By now he's crowded so far into Murphy's space his chapped lips are ever so lightly brushing the stubborn cheekbone the teen has turned to him.

"Why thank you for your gracious services," Murphy grits out. But, Bellamy can practically feel the echo of a full body shiver run down his front. “Now can we get the fuck back to testing those moral boundaries?"

With a final twist of Murphy's neck, their lips are colliding in a mess of teeth and tongues again. One of Murphy's lithe hands slips its way between their warm bodies. Bellamy’s groan vibrates through both their chests as it makes it slips down the front of his pants.

 

~

 

"Jesus, will you shut up. Finn is right over that ridge." Bellamy growls low in the younger teens ear.

"He's fast asleep" Murphy's breath is coming in short, sharp puffs making frost particles dance against the car window inches from his face. 

"Will you hurry up?" He gripes, shoving his bare hips back against Bellamy's in search for warmth. "My ass is freezing.”

"You're the one who insisted we fuck against an abandoned car in the middle of the forest," Bellamy lightly teases as he slowly pumps three spit covered fingers into Murphy's tight hole. "I would have been fine with a nice little hand job but no." Bellamy emphasises the _no_ with a particularly coarse jab forward, trying to find Murphy's sweet spot.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you not want to fuck?" Murphy bites out, he even goes as far as to push away from the frosty door he's leaning against but that only serves to jam Bellamy's long fingers further into him.

Behind him, Bellamy lets out an exasperated sigh. Then as quick as Murphy can blink, he's being pinned right against the car door again while his legs are pushed open at the knees. The teen can’t help the whine that escapes his lips as Bellamy draws his fingers out to undo the last few buttons of his pants. 

"Shut up and bite into something." The command from his friend is gravely and passionate, twisting something deep in Murphy's stomach. 

"Oh please," Murphy tries to sound distant but his impatient hips rolling back against Bellamy's occupied hands gives him away. "You know I can take- ** _holy mother fucking ark above._** "

With one smooth thrust Bellamy is completely seated inside the pale ass in front of him. A little warning would have been appreciated, but even as the thought crosses Murphy’s mind, he knows it isn’t true. He can't tell if it’s the sudden dull pain knitting his eyebrows together or the pleasure hitching his breath that feels better. All he knows is there is the little bright stars dancing behind his eyelids are _amazing_.

"I gave you a warning," is Bellamy's panted reply. He plants one hand onto Murphy's hip and the other over his slim shoulder before shifting ever so slightly.

" _Fuck, you're huge_." Seems to be the only thing Murphy's brain will allow him to say in reply as he's practically split open. The grip on his fragile bones tightens deliciously.

"Say that again." Bellamy commands. He shifts from foot to foot this time making Murphy squeeze his eye shut even tighter at the new stretch.

"You're disgusting." Murphy eventually huffs even though it's the exact opposite of what he's really thinking.

"Then why are you letting me fuck you?" Murphy cracks his eyes open in time to see a smug ass grin creep onto Bellamy's features in the reflection of the tinted glass by his nose.

"You were conveniently available." Murphy jabs, trying his best to distract himself from the fact he feels _so full_ and Bellamy hasn't even fucking moved yet.

"Fuck you." Bellamy grunts before he sinks sharp teeth into the flesh just under Murphy's ear. It earns him a low groan, then a few moments of silence as Murphy seems to collect his scattered thoughts.

"You already are, remember?" Murphy's final answering huff sends a chill down Bellamy's spine.

"Point taken." Bellamy’s starting to get lost in the feeling of Murphy's walls impatiently twitching around his cock. Let alone the bitter sweet taste of his skin left over his tongue.

"Now move." Murphy demands despite a slight shake in his voice. He's desperately trying to find some leverage here, but his feet are barely touching the ground as it is. One of his arms is also pinned to the car under their combined crushing weight and the other isn’t strong enough to hold its own.

"Not until you stuff something in your mouth." Murphy seriously debates asking if Finn would suffice for a second. However, Bellay would _not_ appreciate the comment and the teen is planning on being able to walk straight tomorrow. Sitting down? God no, but that’s far easier to play off then a tell-tale ‘I took an eight-incher last night’ limp.

"Fucking fine." He finally grumbles before sliding the free hand he has clutching the top of the car down to his face. The leather of his jacket tastes kind of grossly bitter in his mouth but it does nothing to stop his throbbing cock jerk against the cool metal in front of him ass Bellamy begins to slowly draw his hips back. 

"Jesus," the freckled teen groans and the proximity of his voice to Murphy's ear startles the boy slightly, "it's fucking freezing out here. I don't wanna pull back."

After Murphy's third distressed noise around the material shoved in his mouth Bellamy finally gets the picture and burrows his cold nose into the neck before him. The last inch he has left to pull out proves too much for the summer lover and he's soon sharply thrusting his way back into Murphy's tight wet heat.

The next few thrusts are shallow but each at a slightly different angle. Murphy's is seconds from just spitting his jacket out and telling Bellamy to go find Roma if he's going to fuck like a pussy. But then the last press forward brushes the tip of Bellamy's cock against something inside Murphy that lights fireworks all over his abdomen. 

Bellamy hisses through his teeth as Murphy hungrily, if not futilely, writhes against his front. He doesn’t relent from his stillness though. Having Murphy pinned like this is proving far too much fun for his own good. Really, all Bellamy can do is smile to himself as Murphy whines high in his throat like the petulant child he is.

"You're such an impatient little shit," Bellamy tries to say but most of it is to lost to the howl of a northerly wind crashing through the trees above them. **_God damn,_** that is cold. If Bellamy thinks he’s cold, Murphy must be frozen. He’s practically got his pants around his ankles.

"Fuck it," the curly haired teen grunts. He reaffirms his hold on Murphy, making sure the boy is as tightly pressed to his warm front as possible.

He doesn’t hold back. Now he's found the spot he wanted and Murphy is nothing but a puddle of cut off moans, Bellamy can get lost in the sensations around him.

Mere inches from his ear he can hear every whimper that escapes Murphy's chest. The smell of sweat and the faint taste of dirt clogs his nose and mouth but he couldn't care less as he brutally introduces Murphy to his reflection. He can even see a strange hanging piece of fabric with the word _Coca-Cola_ printed over it swinging back and forth with the force of his thrust. Bellamy is rather enjoying rocking into his...partner? Best friend? Second in command? Bitch? Lover? Probably a question for another time when his head isn't clouding over with the heat pooling in his lower back and stomach.

Murphy's feeling the same burn. He's certainly not as experienced as Bellamy is and with every surge forward the brown eyed ex-guard is both slamming into his prostate and gliding his leaking cock along a rivet in the car door’s frame. They’ve barely been going at it for five minutes now and he’s so close he can almost taste it. It’s a comfort to know Bellamy must nearly be there with him. They’ve done this enough times now for Murphy to be familiar with the way he's grunting through every snap of his hips.

But then Bellamy's head is gone from Murphy's shoulder. Then his whole body soon follows, leaving Murphy to half groan, half whimper with enraged disappointment. 

"Bad angle," is Bellamy's slurred excuse as he manhandles Murphy sideways to the hood of the car.

It’s effortless for him to hold Murphy face down but the older teen gives him an assuring squeeze to the back of his neck anyway. Soon enough once he's found just where he wants their legs and hips to be he's straight back into Murphy. He’s doubled his pace but softened his thrust. More focused on sensation now then putting Murphy in his place.

Speaking of, Murphy's entire ass feels **_raw_** , in the greatest possible way. Anywhere his exposed skin touches the metal of the car is like a jolt of ice and there's a bug crawling over a deep green vine inches from his face but at this point he honestly couldn't care less. Every one of Bellamy's thrusts is slamming into Murphy's prostate. Every. Last. One.

Murphy has no idea how he manages it but he wiggles his torso up just enough to jam an arm between the car and himself to finally fist his neglected cock. 

"Close," he barely pants out as Bellamy only seems to pound harder. 

"Keep quiet," Bellamy breathes but there's nothing malicious in his tone, he almost sounds twice as blissed out as Murphy is which is kind of a first.

Whether it's the kind lilt to Bellamy's voice or the three-consecutive deep thrust that makes Murphy tip over the edge, the boy doesn't know. All he does know is the flashes of white are back again and Bellamy is abruptly pulling out. The younger of the two tries to protest but he can't quite catch his breath in time as Bellamy flips his boneless body over. In the second it takes Murphy to realise his intention Bellamy is already shoving his loose shirt up to reveal pale glistening skin. His other hand fumbles for his swollen cock and a few strokes later Murphy is moaning low in his throat as warm streaks of cum paint his thighs and stomach.

The next few minutes are probably the longest pair have ever gone without talking. Bellamy ended up doubling over since he came that hard so now their doing nothing more than panting into each other’s open mouths. It doesn’t make the most graceful of pictures but its theirs. Messy and gritty and breathtaking.

God damn is Bellamy Blake beautiful. Even silhouetted against the moon his curls frame his flushed face perfectly. Murphy wants more than anything to bump Bellamy's nose with his own, asking for a kiss like his infatuated parents used to. But that's Bellamy and Murphy’s picture. That’s a burnt-out dream from a decade ago. 

"Gross," Murphy finally huffs, breaking their unspoken silence. His **_everything_** feels sticky.


	2. Chapter 2

Murphy wakes up with an itch. An itch that in about two hours becomes a scratch. A scratch that in about 30 minutes becomes a puffy pink rash over the skin of his delicate cheek, lower back and stomach. 

More specifically, everywhere that fucking vine over the abandoned car touched. 

 

~

 

His cheek and stomach aren't all that bad. It was only tickling the side of his face for the big finish so to speak and Bellamy had used mostly wet vines to clean up the...remembrance of said happy ending splattered over his front. 

But his lower back, dear god his lower back is **_on fire_**. He can't see it and that scares him even more. For all he knows his skin could be rotting off, damn it.

It literally feels like there is an army fire ants wriggling around right under his skin. All he wants to do is lie in ice water for a few decades. Right now, however, all he has is a scrappy excuse of a mattress, an old rag and a bucket of rain water. The heavenly liquid does help for the first couple of hours but by about noon it all gets too much for the delinquent. 

He needs help. He doesn't want it and the thought may make his stomach turn but right now it's his last hope.

Murphy barely keeps himself upright as the shirt on his back digs into his rash. Yet, with a dozen deep breaths and a knuckle white grip, he begins to waddle his way to a certain princess's tent.

 

~

 

"I'm sorry, Murphy." Clarke sighs into the humid air of her tent. Her hair is a total mess, her clothes are sticking to her skin in the midday heat and overall, she looks about five seconds away from losing her marbles. Murphy can't help but a feel a slight pang of empathy for the girl before a flame of fresh agony is licking up his back.

"Holy  ** _fuck..._** ”

She steps forward momentarily at his muffled grunt of pain but he hastily waves her off. He's fine. Been through worse.

"I would give you some anti-inflammatory cream if I could," she pushes on helplessly, "but Monty can only identify so many plants down here and actually preparing them then takes time and everyone seems to be bumping into the stuff and I gave my last tube to Fox twenty minutes ago..."

The blonde seems to finally click that Murphy is too focused on keeping his knees locked into place to listen to her rambling excuses. He really must be in pain if he isn't immediately charging off to go steal some from a kid half his size. 

"I'm not going to do that, Clarke for fucks sake." Murphy hisses through his teeth.

Oh. Oops. She said that last bit out loud didn't she? She only got three hours sleep last night herself after her entire left ankle brushed into this stuff. 

"Look, the rash will go down in about 24 hours. You'll just have to hold out till then." Clarke watches as all the blood drains out of the boy’s face in one go. 

"Fuck no," he growls but he's instantly digging his teeth into his bottom lip as another wave creeps over his skin.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this," Clarke hesitantly murmurs but one completely  _done_  look from the former prisoner spurs her tongue on, "Octavia got a jar of some ointment for Bellamy earlier this morning...just through not very agreeable means."

"The grounder cave she crawls into every night, right?" Murphy huffs. Yeah, Bellamy's got more than few worries about that development. Not that he'd actually ever tell Murphy about them but he's not blind. 

"You know about that?" Clarke whispers like there’s are delinquent hiding just outside her tent walls.

Murphy gives her a flat look. "Everyone knows."

"Huh," the blonde flicks her hectic braid back over her shoulder and kneels by her bed to rip Murphy a new rag from her parachute blanket, "people are more switched on around here than I thought."

Murphy can't help but snort at that. He has to turn it into a wince though as the alpha station princess shoots him a suspicious look.

"Well," she sighs yet again, handing him the new cloth, "Octavia will be by the fence somewhere and if you’re lucky she might still have some of her grounder cream."

Murphy's out the tent flap before the blonde can even finish her sentence.

What the hell was he doing to get it so bad in the first place anyway?

 

~

 

"Seriously, you too?" Octavia blurts out the second Murphy comes hobbling up to her side. He's got that tell-tale line of pink puffed up flesh over one of his cheekbones and if the way he's walking like he's got a wooden plank shoved up the back of his shirt is anything to go buy his face wasn't the only place that coped it. 

"God you're all idiots," she cackles to herself, not at all deterred by his icy blue glare.

"Just give me the damn cream," he hisses, arrogantly sticking a palm out toward her. 

"Ask nicely," she titters back but the way his body seems to convulse at a frustrated sigh has her reaching for the pouch tucked into her belt quickly. 

She may despise the guy but if it weren't for Lincoln she'd have been in the same boat as him a few nights ago. 

Note to future self, dark green is not to be used for wiping clean.

Murphy raises a timid eyebrow at her as she dangles the small pouch over his hand.

"I... need a bit more than that." 

"What?" The dark-haired girl asks incredulously. How can he have gotten it that bad? "Show me."

"Do I have to?" Murphy whines. Octavia just eagerly nods at him. Like she said, she still despises the guy. 

"Fucking-" Murphy drags in a deep breath. He is _not_ going to go off at his fuck buddy’s little sister. No matter how much of a brat she is.

Ever so slowly, he spins on his heels. As he pulls the fabric of his shirt up to show the intermingling of rosy pink lines and even the faintest of purple splotches with the pale skin of his back, Octavia can't help but gasp in horror. 

"And I thought Bellamy's was bad," she breathes as the boy turns back around, his face distorted in discomfort.

Wait a minute. Bellamy. Murphy's been so focused on easing his own pain he completely forgot the other had touched the vines too. What a fucking idiot the alpha male is. Octavia all but snarls at him as he bursts out laughing. Oh, this is just too good.

Murphy's laughing is only making his shoulders shake which is in turn scratching his shirt over the sensitive spot on his stomach so he once again drags in a lungful of air. This is serious. Bellamy is probably in just as much discomfort as he is right now- and nope Murphy is losing it again.

"Do you want the cream or not?" Octavia suddenly huffs, apparently done with his strange outburst. She heaves her makeshift backpack from around her shoulder to the ground and fishes through its contents. 

"Did you two roll around in the stuff or what?" She mutters, finally pulling a shallow glass jar out of the bag. 

"Yeah, something like that." Murphy chuckles once again before snatching the ointment from her hands. 

The substance inside is a sort of sparkly navy blue gel. Murphy really doesn't want to know what kind of radioactive cave Octavia's tree climber got it from.

"Oh really?" Octavia blinks and Murphy can see her smirk distorting through the glass of his new jar.

Murphy's brain switches into panic mode momentarily as his entire body tenses up. Fuck. He just said that. To Bellamy little sister. Out loud. Thankfully, Murphy's also always had a knack for working his way around any sticky situation. Literally and figuratively.

"He wishes," Murphy half grins with an obnoxious guffaw. 

Disappointed, the girl sends him a dirty look as he pulls the jar open and begins to hesitantly run the ointment onto his injured cheek. Well then. As it so happens the cream is a **_blessing from God himself_**. It’s gives a pure release from blistering heat. Then it leaves only a numb contentment behind it.

"You know most people say thank you," Octavia begins to gripe but the older boy has vanished back towards his tent before she can even finish. 

What did he do to get it that bad anyway?

 

~

 

The gel is a dream sent from heaven. Murphy now has a full layer lathered over his burns with the help from a somewhat hesitant Mbege. It took about ten minutes to convince the guy it wasn't contagious and then another five to get him to actually touch Murphy. The rash covered boy had to be at the point of tears welling up in his eyes at the pain before his best friend caved, the prick.

But Murphy is feeling worlds better and is just about ready to go bitch Bellamy out for all this. Honestly, he would have gotten him to put the ointment on but some barrier in the pit of his stomach told him that was a bit too close for comfort. Yes, they fuck like a pair of dogs on the not-so-odd occasion but prolonged skin to skin contact with out the end goal of getting off in site is that step too far. It's dumb, but it works. Or at least that's what Murphy keeps telling himself.

With the glistening jar safely tucked into his back pocket and his shirt safety tucked into his belt so there's no flash of pink for Bellamy to laugh at, Murphy begins his climb up to the drop ships topmost roof. It's where Bellamy always goes when something happens and he doesn't want the larger camp to see. Something like getting blotchy pink rashes all up his thighs and hands because he bent John Murphy over an abandoned automobile and pounded him till his legs turned to jelly. As Murphy comes to the top he takes his sweet time to look up at the blue sky. It’s nearly a crystal clear, with only the occasional cloud dawdling through the atmosphere. The sun beats down on Murphy’s raw cheek and shoulder but he doesn't mind all that much. The warmth radiating over the rest of his pale skin is something he'll always cherish. There was never any sunlight on the ark after all, bar the occasional deadly solar flare.

"The fuck are you doing?" A low voice grumbles from across the roof, pulling Murphy from his day dreaming.

"Came up for a little sun," Murphy quips back as he climbs over the last rail and begins a slow saunter over to his friend. 

Bellamy's in his usual position, of course. There's a single old lawn chair the group found at the bottom of the waterfall folded out beneath him. He has his shirt off, his hands loosely dangling over the back of his chair and his legs sprawled as far as they will go. Except this time, he's apparently hulked out and ripped one of the ships thin metal sheets halfway up and over his chair. It casts a shadow over his lower half, protecting his bare thighs as his pants loosely dangling around his knees.

The freckled teen paints quite the picture in only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. And by quite the picture Murphy means a debauched pre-apocalypse ancient Roman gladiator lounging in his spoils for fucks sake. He can't help but swallow as he takes the last few steps up to Bellamy’s side. Before dark eyes will finally open to peer up at him, the teen has to do a little bit of readjusting in his pants. What? He's allowed to like what he sees, even if Bellamy is still a colossal wanker.

Alas, soon enough one of Bellamy's thick arms is coming up to block his eyes from the harsh sun so Murphy goes on pretending he’s far more interested in what the horizon has to offer. 

"I fucking hate you by the way," the King grumbles out of nowhere.

"What did I do this time?" A sly grin slips onto Murphy’s lips but not before he bats his eyelashes at Bellamy in feigned innocence.

"This shit burns you know," Bellamy gripes but it falls on deaf ears. Murphy’s caved and let his eyes roam back to the lounging figure before him. Sure enough, the same light pink puff plaguing Murphy’s skin is lining the tops of Bellamy's thick thighs and webbing its way across his broad hands.

Murphy ungracefully snorts at his friend as he plops against the shaded wall by his feet. Bellamy only huffs back at him indignantly before slowly reaching up to drag his metal sheet up more to block his entire body from the blazing sun. It groans obnoxiously at him in protest but is ultimately no match for the teens bulging biceps and shoulders.

Suddenly, Murphy's mouth has gone very dry.

"Fuck," Bellamy hisses as he lets go of the sheet. The boy now by his feet just catches the slight tremor of his hands as he reaches for a large leather pouch slung over his belt.

Murphy tucks his legs under himself so his back doesn't brush the wall supporting his weight and settles in for the show. Bellamy lathering himself in glistening ointment gel? Yeah, that's something he'd pay to see every day for the rest of his life. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud though.  

It's a magnificent sight really. His deft hands work over the brown toned ridges of his thighs and the little sighing noises he makes as it passes over a particularly angry looking spot has Murphy itching all over. And for the first time today it’s not because of his rash.

Bellamy huffs out a laugh as he catches Murphy ogling him with his mouth popped open. 

"Enjoying the free show?" He murmurs as he sits back to rub the excess over his semi swollen hands. 

"Is it burning?" Murphy says, his voice far deeper than either of them expected.

Bellamy's eyes flash hungrily for a moment before his brain catches up and he's back to his usual cool demeanour. He can't hide the twitch behind dark fabric however and Murphy’s eyes linger over the bulge with purpose.

"A little," the reclining king nonchalantly replies as he flings his arms back over the top of his makeshift throne. Suddenly Murphy's forgotten he asked a question, too caught up in the expanse of Bellamy's chest and abs. 

"Would you," Murphy starts to slowly unfold his legs, "like a distraction?" 


	3. Chapter 3

"Would you," Murphy starts to slowly unfold his legs, "like a distraction?" 

Murphy says it as more of a simple inquiry then the proposition it really is. But Bellamy, always one quick to catch on, is soon flashing pearly whites at him as he spreads his bulky thighs. Oh, how lucky Murphy feels in moments like these. He wraps lithe fingers into the top of blue jeans and begins to ease them to Bellamy’s ankles, careful not to touch the top of his sticky thighs. Even though it would be rather amusing to watch Bellamy squirm, he isn't quite interested in having his head ripped off. Plus, there are other ways to pull the King apart at the seams. 

It’s easy to crowd in between Bellamy's thighs and bring one hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. Before he can really start however, he spots a pair of brown eyes regarding him in a way they haven’t before.

"What?" Murphy asks, his brows quickly knitting together. It's not like Bellamy's ever said no to this before. Murphy's good. Probably the best cocksucker in all the camp and Bellamy hasn't been shy to groan that as Murphy's deep throated him in several dark corners. A smug smile tugs at his friend’s lips, easing the teens sudden panic. He didn't even realise he was holding his breathe till it huffs out over Bellamy's crotch. 

"Here," Bellamy murmurs, dropping a hand down to smear some excess ointment on his thumb into the pink line of Murphy's cheek. It's certainly unexpected and Murphy can't help but let out a dry laugh. Like Bellamy would care if Murphy wasn't about to blow him into tomorrow. 

The other teen seems to sense what Murphy's train of thought ended up at and rolls his eyes dramatically toward the sky. "Ye of little faith."

The boy between his legs looks down again to hide a blooming smile, much to Bellamy's disappointment. 

"Is that the only place you got stung?" The throaty question seems to rumble across the roof. Its’s… strange that Bellamy's being so talkative. He's not exactly the quiet type (if not a match for Murphy) when it comes to their little adventures but he usually isn't this invested in Murphy's health and wellbeing.

"Not exactly," is the boys hushed reply and before Bellamy can press on any further, Murphy licks a determined stripe up the growing line of Bellamy's cock through his underwear.

It tastes like sweat and musk and all things Bellamy and really Murphy would be quite content to just mouth at the guy through a thin layer of fabric for the next half hour. Yet, he makes his way back down to the base with wet open kisses, Bellamy making content little moans above him as he goes. Murphy can do much better than that. He mouths his way back up again before he finds the small wet patch beading at the top of his friend’s cock. With a swirl of his tongue he pulls the covered head into his mouth and _sucks_. The fabric must feel terribly wet and constricting by now so after his initial surprised gasp, Bellamy practically growls at the pale boy between his thigh to move on already.

Again, Murphy rolls his eyes at his impatient friend but this time he does as he's told. Really, he’s been doing too much of that lately. Doing as Bellamy says. Doing as Bellamy wants. He’s going soft over here. Well not literally but still.

Murphy sits back on his haunches and begins to gently ease the dark fabric of Bellamy's underwear down. All the while he's terribly careful not to touch the friend’s rash at all. Why, he has no idea but he does it anyway. Again, going soft.

The rash sure does make an awfully wonderful contrast against the drying blue gel against Bellamy's skin however. Murphy drinks in the sight before diving back into business. Skilfully he swirls the now exposed pink tip of Bellamy's cock into his mouth. It tastes like salt against his tongue and he can't help but crave more, even if it is just the taste of skin and sweat.

Bellamy makes that noise again. The one that bubbles up from the back of his throat. It makes him sound like a debauched escort or some shit. Whatever it is, it drives the floppy haired teen mad. So, without so much as a warning, he flattens his tongue, relaxes his jaw, and sinks down Bellamy's length in one smooth glide.

A loud curse escapes the lounging self-anointed King, urging Murphy to keep the hot, heavy weight in his mouth till he can't breathe. And then a little longer, just to prove a point to himself that he damn well can.

He repeats the process again and again, turning Bellamy into nothing but a panting mess above him. By about the fourth go, he swallows, earning himself another pleased groan. It also draws out a shallow thrust into his mouth that has Murphy's own length twitching in his trousers. 

He can only hold it for so long however, and soon he's pulling up for air with a light gasp. Bellamy looks just as wrecked as Murphy feels and that's saying something. Especially since there's tears clouding his eyes and a definite rasp to his moan.

"Fuck," the word seems to escape his friend’s lips on its own volition and Murphy just can't help but feel smug.

"Is that the only word you know, Blake?" 

The other teen looks too far gone to answer the snark comment by now anyway. With his half lidded eyes and shaking hands, he really does seem quiet the ruined royal. Murphy hasn't even started yet.

"C-can I-" his deep tone and pleading eyes seem to pierce right through Murphy. He knows exactly what he needs. So, before Bellamy can even finish his stuttering sentence Murphy just nods slightly.

Bellamy ever so slightly wiggles his hip down further on his chair to properly plant his feet on the tin roof below them. This way Murphy has a bit more room and Bellamy has a bit more leverage. Murphy breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth several times, not sure if it'll help in any way that isn't stopping his head from spinning. Suddenly looking at Bellamy proves too hard, quite literally. So, with eyes carefully closed, Murphy sinks halfway down Bellamy's rather impressive length and waits.

See, there's an art to throat fucking, and Bellamy's been the best at it Murphy's encountered so far. He starts off with small thrusts, perfectly in time with his stuttered moans. He's holding back for Murphy’s sake but that never lasts long. 

Soon enough Bellamy's worked his way up to a pace three cautions to the wind, all but bruising the back of Murphy's throat. His large hands hover inches from Murphy's hair, his tender skin preventing him from burying his fingers in the wispy strands. Normally he’d use the grip to control his friend's every move. The younger boy is lavishing himself in the opportunity to have some control here. He knows Bellamy wants that little bit faster to tip him over the edge and Murphy gets to steal that from him. He won’t be able to stay down on his knees forever though, so he’s milking it for all it's worth. 

The wondrous sense of empowerment wears off in about ten minutes as Murphy predicted. Gradually, the sting over his lower back starts to return, the burning wrapping its way around to his stomach. His jaw follows suit, the awkward position it takes to keep his mouth open and teeth covered sparking a dull ache under his ears. Sweat droplets even start to roll down his neck and catch over his collarbones as the sun all but bakes them on the metal roof. Palming himself through his trousers can only fight off so much. Another few moments pass and Murphy just wants to get off then go float in a body of ice water somewhere. Preferably with Bellamy’s help in both scenarios.

A determined hand plants itself on Bellamy's toned stomach as the other comes up to skilfully work on Bellamy's other neglected features. If Murphy didn't have a cock stuffed into his mouth right now he'd laugh at the fact he literally has the great rebel king by the balls. 

As his nose joins with the soft patch of hair above Bellamy's cock, he can feel his friend’s hips start to work overtime. What was merely a teasing blowjob five seconds ago, is now a rather obscene sounding event. Between the sloppy sound of spit slicked lips smacking onto skin, Bellamy's deep ragged moans and the worrying creaks of the poor lawn chair under them, Murphy feels like one of the trade girls back on the arc. He used to hear shit like this through the walls every night. Of course, none of that ever got him going like Bellamy does. 

Unable to help himself, Murphy sneaks a look at his friend’s flustered face. By the ark above does he look ruined. His head thrown back, exposing a veiny neck Murphy shamelessly wants to wrap his hands. But then Murphy spots his pinking hands clenched into tight fists in mid-air and he’s not sure if he wants it the other way around. It doesn't look comfortable, but Bellamy is so too far gone to care.

He just needs a final nudge, that one little thing that- suddenly brown eyes open to meet blue and without warning Murphy's chocking on a thick stream of cum. It burns. But its a good burn. Kind of. Okay not really but If Murphy thinks of something else, like Bellamy returning the favour he’s fine. The finishing teen’s final oblivious thrusts only make the situation worse so Murphy distracts himself with the sound of the metal chair beneath them absolutely screeching in protest instead. They really need to start doing this on sturdier abandoned objects before something gives out under their asses. 

As Bellamy's stuttering grinds slow, Murphy refocuses on breathing through his nose. And swallowing...and swallowing...and swallowing. It's not his fault if he gets lost in the little noises Bellamy's whimpering out each time he sucks. 

It isn't until two fingers are gently pressing into his chin that he realises he should probably pull off before this gets weird. Or at least weirder then secret blowjobs on crashed spaceship roofs anyway. He'll never not think the loud pop wet lips make as they come off the head of a spent dick is hilarious. With care, Murphy tucks his friend back into his underwear, sure to give him a last quick squeeze for good measure.

"Mercy, mercy," Bellamy tiredly puffs, he really is a mess with bright red cheeks and pupils the size of a damn marble. 

Murphy sits back on his haunches, well aware his tenting pants are making his next statement for him, but he puts in the extra effort anyway.

"Well?" Murphy obnoxiously gestures to below his belt.

"Just...give me a minute," Bellamy pants into the high noon heat. He’s not really sure how Murphy is expecting him to return the favour when both his hands and cock will be out of service for at least a solid 15 minutes now. He's never really blown Murphy, let alone a guy before. He's been down there sure, but that's still more of Murphy's thing. Bellamy's even of little worried he might just embarrass himself in front of the kid, the blowjob master he is. What a title. Bellamy can't help but think it's an earned one as he struggles to get his rugged breathing under control.

"Alright Grandpa," Murphy huffs, falling back on his hands with a loud clang. God, he's reckless with himself sometimes. Bellamy should really watch him more carefully...

Mindlessly, Murphy let's his fingers drift up to play with the pouch hanging off Bellamy's belt. A rare chuckle bubbles from his chest and might never come unstuck.

"I was talking to your little sister before and nearly told her just what we did to need this stuff. Fuck dude her face was pricele-”

Bellamy's damp hand unexpectedly connects with the centre of Murphy's chest, preventing him from finishing his happy statement.

"Bellamy, what the-" Murphy begins to snap but the figure that comes to loom over him pulls the words short in this throat. This is wrong. Bellamy doesn’t do this. Not with him.

"Are you really that much of a blithering idiot." The harsh words sting. Not like Murphy's rash as it connects with the floor as he instinctively falls back. Something far more bitter, deeper. Something that lodges in his chest. The teen on his back thinks he might see a moment of guilt flicker across Bellamy's eyes, but it's gone too quick to tell. Replaced by the cold glare from before.

It takes a moment for the meaning of the insult to stick in Murphy’s clattered brain. But when he realises Bellamy means for nearly letting Octavia know, Murphy lets out a bitter laugh. Of course.

 "It's fine," Murphy spits, pushing to his feet so he can meet Bellamy eye to eye, "she doesn't know."

"You don't know that," Bellamy starts to clumsily yank his pants up. Murphy hates that all he can think about is how much it must be hurting his hands.

"Let me-" Murphy reaches for where Bellamy's fumbling with his buttons but a harsh word warns him back. Murphy's hurt quickly turns to panic and that's never too far off from anger when it comes to him. 

"The fuck is your problem, Blake?"

"You are," Bellamy hisses, fastening the last button and turning in the direction of the ladder, "god you can be fucking thick."

"Sorry for trying to be fucking kind for once," Murphy pushes just as much venom into the words as Bellamy did. Wherever this is leading to its forcing an angry burning pit in his stomach, and not the good kind.

Bellamy abruptly stops, turning on his heel to catch one of Murphy's arms in his wide palm. His eyes are a burning ember, forcing Murphy down into himself. 

"This isn't real, Murphy. We're not playing house. Out here, I need to survive. **_My_** people rely on me and  ** _my_**  reputation."

"What does that have to do with me?" Murphy defiantly yanks his arm away. "Am I not one of **_your_** people?"

There’s an empty silence hanging between them now. Eyes ablaze and bodies tensed. If this doesn’t turn to fists real soon, Murphy will be more than surprised…and he is. Something shifts in the older teens face as his next words pass his lips. Something harsh. Something weathered. 

 

"You're not a person, Murphy. You're a loud mouth and a tight fuck."

Now that. That right there. That hurts Murphy more than any punch ever could. Bellamy knew that. But he said it anyway. Murphy is so **_infuriated_** he can't-

Bellamy doesn't get to just-

This isn't fucking  ** _fair_**. 

It's too easy to flick the switch. All emotion drains from the harsh swarm of sound in Murphy’s mind. Probably from his face too if the way Bellamy's regretful grimace falls is anything to go by. 

"If that's what you want, then fine." The words are too distant. His tongue a too heavy weight in his mouth. Why is he even here? And Murphy doesn’t mean just on this damn roof.

"Murphy-" Bellamy can try. He can. But he's said the truth now. Wouldn't want loos his _'tight fuck'_ now would he? Well fuck him. He knows better than Murphy that any old airhead in this pathetic place would throw themselves at him in a heartbeat. 

"You know I wasn't lying about the continently available thing." It's a low blow. Murphy's knows it. He doesn't mean it. But Bellamy doesn't have to know that. Bellamy doesn't have to know anything about him ever again.

"Fuck. You." If that's supposed to intimidate Murphy Bellamy's got himself fooled. 

"Not anymore, right?" And just like that, Murphy's shoved past Bellamy and half throwing himself down the ladder to the ground. He ignores the resounding crash above his head that means Bellamy must have introduced the old lawn chair to his makeshift wall. 

Murphy wants to walk out of the front gate of this camp and never fucking stop. But that's only going to earn him a spear to the chest. It feels like he's already got one of those anyway. No. What he really wants is to put his fist through a wall. Or maybe Bellamy's face. 

The wet eyed teen let's his legs carry him back to his tent. The hollow feeling in his chest outweighing the screaming burns of his lower back and stomach. It's pure instinct that has him snatching the flask out of Monty's passing hand. 

 ** _Fuck_**  Bellamy.  ** _Fuck_**  the ground.  ** _Fuck_**  every last living thing on it. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Murphy stays in his tent well past after the sun has set. He's wallowing in his own thoughts at the bottom of a bottle. He never should have trusted Bellamy. Never should have even met him. To think that anyone would ever have feelings for him. Bellamy couldn't have hit the mark better. Murphy is a fucking idiot. 

When he does finally emerge, it's with an empty bottle in his hand a sway to his step. Finn's quick to spot him, especially when he drops the mentioned bottle, tries to grab it before it rolls away then nearly face plants. 

"Woah there, sailor," the spacewalker tries to steady the stumbling figure but his attempts are quickly shoved off.

"M'fine." Murphy insists despite the obvious slur to his words. "Go find your little bird or something."

Finn turns on his heel quickly, knowing that it's not worth it. Murphy's a big boy. Finn won't go too far away anyway. Both for drunk Murphy's sake and the camps. 

Raven however, has other thoughts. Where she came from, Finn has no idea. But she’s there. Right against his chest. It's the sheer disappointment in the eyes that always gets him to turn around. Usually she's giving him that look to turn him back from some idiotic death defying plan...but then again this is drunk Murphy. Her sudden investment in the kid’s general health and wellbeing is off putting to say the least. Why she can't be the one to just go after him, the long-haired teen has no idea. Yet, a quick glance over his shoulder both confirms she must have just vanished into thin air and he’s on his own in this. 

"Murphy," Finn calls trying to jog behind the stumbling delinquent. He nearly gets an elbow to the ribs for his efforts but soon enough he has the teen slumping onto a log by the camps main fire. 

"Dude," Finn abruptly gasps as Murphy's puffy eyed face is turned to the flickering light, " you’re this plastered because of that rash? I'm sure I can just find you some of the cream going around." 

Alcohol may be a theoretical painkiller but really? A whole bottle of Monty's Moonshine over some proper medicine? Sure, the shit may practically glow but still. Murphy may be worse off than Finn originally thought. 

"What?" Murphy finally mumbles, apparently needing an extra few seconds to register Finn's worried words. "No, no. I got some."

Murphy starts to fumble into his jacket pocket, his hands randomly groping the dark fabric till he finally finds the slot. He even holds the jar up to Finn's face in a 'tada' fashion before he begins his battle with the lid. Finn knows better than to try and help him. He likes his fingers exactly where they are thank you. Attached to his hand.

"You know," Finn says plopping down next to the drunken delinquent despite his disgruntled sigh, "it's actually a pretty nice shade of pink...peachy even."

Murphy may be seeing double right about now but his fist connects with Finns meaty upper arm easy enough. It doesn’t help that Finn just chuckles in return.

"Be useful," Murphy slurs before he shoves his pot of Lincoln's cream in the general direction of Finn's nose, "hold this."

The teen scoops more than a generous amount of the navy-blue ointment over his fingertips. It seems too purposeful to be a drunk mistake however, making Finn question just where else he might have brushed the infectious vines. Maybe his arm or leg got caught across one. Maybe both. Poor bastard.

Murphy's lithe fingers first gingerly trace the pink line across his check. Then Finn begins to really worry when his other hand comes up to expose the pale flesh of his lower stomach. Wait. No. The _raw blotchy_ flesh of his lower stomach. Did he lie on the shit or what?

Finn doesn't ask, merely sends a raised eyebrow in Murphy's direction as he returns for more cream. The other delinquent ignores him of course. Instead opting to yank up the back of his top this time to try and smear the medicine over his lower back. A quick look over Finn’s own shoulder confirms that Murphy’s sloppy hand isn’t even close to the main welts.

Is he seriously considering this? Him. Finn Collins, the devoted adventurer, shoving his hands up the back of John Murphy, the devoted pyromaniac’s shirt? It’s about then that Murphy’s drunk efforts to cure himself send him teetering dangerously backward toward a pile of logs…then dangerously forward towards a blazing fire. God damn it.

“Turn,” the long-haired delinquent sighs, using his free hand to manhandle Murphy’s back toward him. Murphy goes without any resistance to Finn’s surprise. He even lifts one leg over their shared log for better leverage. Finn echoes his repositioning with caution, taking note of the way Murphy leans forward to solidly plant both hands over damp wood. Finn suddenly remembers the first time he and Raven broke into her mother’s secret stash of moonshine. More specifically, how every movement sent the room around him spinning. If this kid vomits, Finn’s drawing the line at holding his hair back.

Murphy isn’t really gripping the log for balance though. If Finn could only see his face, he might even think Murphy is on the verge of tears. To their left, across the fire pit, barely concealed by a few open tent flaps, is Bellamy. The curly haired teen is not alone. A tall dark girl, Roma, if Murphy remembers (which he wishes he doesn’t), happily pressed to his side. They seem to be speaking in hushed tones, heads bent close and eyes locked together. Murphy has to tear his own away as the girl jokingly nudges Bellamy’s advancing arm away from her shoulders.

An oblivious Finn is soon gingerly lathering some of the rather suspicious looking cream onto his index finger as he drags in a lungful of air. He’s helping. Murphy won’t murder him if he’s just helping. Really…Murphy can’t be that bad. Finn’s heard the stories.

Murphy flinches slightly as Finn’s finger crashes into his lower back. Finn didn’t mean to jab him. Honestly. He just didn’t know how the hell else he’s meant to do this without Murphy thinking he’s about to get felt up.

“Just…do it slowly,” Murphy huffs the first word over his shoulder but is quick to turn back as brown eye’s suddenly meet his. This is too weird.

“Right,” Finn clears his throat gruffly, eyes falling back to the exposed pink strip of skin between Murphy’s jacket and jeans, “slow.”

He moves his finger across the line, careful to get all the discoloured edges. He’s about to declare ‘all done’ but at the last moment, his knuckle catches on the fabric of Murphy’s jacket, exposing yet another blotch of pale pink flesh.

“Dude,” another inconspicuous cough, “there’s more up under your shirt.”

As Murphy shifts to look back at Finn, the teen catches a wince of pain.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It looks like it really stings.”

“I’ll be fucking fine, alright.”

“ _Murphy_.” Finn’s poking the sleeping bear here. He knows. But Murphy seems to be in a real mood and if this gloopy stuff is going to help in anyway Finn’s happy to keep going. It’s not like he’s not into guys sometimes. He’s just not into Murphy. It won’t mean a thing. Not at all.

But then Murphy grunts out what Finns thinks is a no and yanks his jacket off. Finn didn’t expect Murphy would have…nice…shoulders. Or back for that matter, Finn discovers as the teen then pulls his loose shirt up and over his lower torso. It’s the contrast of the milky skin, navy gel and pink welts that gets him. Which is so damn weird. Murphy just looks so **_soft_**. Raven and Clarke soft.  A quick dip of two fingers into the tub tightly gripped in Finn’s left hand allows him to soon confirm his theory. Murphy’s soft alright. Especially in the small dips next to where the knobs of his spine meet taught muscle.

“What did you even do to get these?” Finn abruptly asks in an attempt to distract himself. It doesn’t help that even he’s surprised at how husky his voice has become. If Murphy notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead opting to roll his head forward so his chin is tucked into his chest and sigh. A rather awkward silence stretches between them and Finn stubbornly waits for a reply.

“Do you really wanna know?” The belated question is practically drawled over Murphy’s shoulder. Sharp blue eyes suddenly drag over Finn’s face then drop to the ground as Murphy chuckles to himself. The delinquent seems far more agreeable now. Blissed out…flirty, even. The half cream spreading, half massage must be hitting the right spot.

“No,” the spacewalker chuckles, letting his hand roam to the gentle dip at the base of Murphy’s spine, “not really.”

It’s only a slight lie. It’s bad enough he’s practically kneading at the muscle right above the line of Murphy’s jeans. Add flirting **_back_** to the mix here and Finn will seriously regret this in the morning.

Then Murphy has to go and push back into Finn’s hand with a low groan that sounds outright **_filthy_**.

Finn’s trying here. He really is. But Finn’s had a few drinks tonight himself. Raven is decidedly over him. Clarke all but hates him for all he’s done. It’s worth a shot, right? If Murphy punches him out Murphy punches him out. Besides, the teen is too drunk for Finn to let them do anything past a quick friendly flirt anyway if he does play along.

“Fuck it,” Finn murmurs under his breath. It doesn’t take much to let the tip of his forefinger slip that last few centimetres into the band of Murphy’s jeans. He waits patiently for a reaction from Murphy and hearing a pleased gasp in return, he pushes on. Or, at least he would have if a menacing hand hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere and fixed a far too tight grip over his wrist.

“That’s enough,” the order is short and harsh. So harsh, in fact, that Finn is pulling his hand back before he even registers that the command came from **_Bellamy_** of all people.

“Bellamy, how’s it going my frie-” Finn’s words are pinched off as another hand finds its way onto the back of his neck. All his further protests are silenced as the looming figure all but tears him from his seat, a furious scowl covering his features.

“Thanks, Spacewalker,” Murphy suddenly says as he pushes up from his seat, “you were a real convenience.”

The tangled pair stare at Murphy as he clumsily pulls his jacket on. He’s all but giggling to himself for god knows what reason. Murphy just said thank you… to Finn… with Bellamy a few feet away.

And was that a wink? Before Finn can even begin to think of a reply, the jar he’s all but forgotten about is torn from his hand and he’s being shoved to the side. Bellamy doesn’t give an explanation for his outburst, just squares his shoulders and waits for Finn to guiltily side step away. Why he’s feeling guilty though, he has no idea.

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
Bellamy possessive hand wraps around Murphy's upper arm next, giving the younger teenager a harsh tug as he starts to move away from the fire. Murphy would protest to the rough treatment if his head wasn't so fuzzy at how effortlessly Bellamy catches his fumbling steps and pulls him impossibly closer to his side. 

This is ridiculous. Murphy is his, god damn it. What was he thinking? Letting **_Finn_** touch him like that. Plus, he’s obviously been into Monty’s moonshine. Bellamy is such an idiot. Murphy could have hurt himself over Bellamy’s stupid freak out. He could have slept with Finn. Bellamy was made in the moment but for the rest of today guilt has relentlessly torn at his insides. He can’t lose Murphy. Fuck his reputation. Fuck his people. He’s going to sober Murphy up then he’s going to let this whole damn camp know how he feels about Murphy. And he’s gonna let Murphy say it for him.

Curious stares follow them through the camp, each steadily turned away by Bellamy's furious gaze. Clarke is even brave enough to utter out an _"easy there, caveman"_ as the odd couple stalk past her. She'd be worried for Murphy if the comment hadn't just sent him to a rather ungraceful giggle fit. Since when does John Murphy giggle? 

The younger of the two is gone soon anyway, haphazardly dropped through the entrance to Bellamy's tent as he glowers at the group nearby who had just begun to wolf-whistle. They scatter quick enough anyway but Clarke just catches them sneaking back toward his tent to shamelessly eavesdrop as the ex-janitor vanishes in after his drunk...friend? Boyfriend? Clarke has no idea by now. She won't pretend she's not hovering near the king’s tent to try a find an answer too anyway. 

 

~

 

Clarke was right. Both Bellamy and Murphy are cured of their breakouts in 20 minutes at the very most. It’s nearly 24 hours after their contact with the vine exactly. Then, luckily for Murphy, Bellamy already has a water skin and a few servings of meat and bunker supplies stashed in the corner of his tent, allowing the teen to sober up not soon after.

“I’m really…you know.” Bellamy mutters after nearly an hour of suffocating silence.

Murphy scoffs from the corner he’s tucked himself into. He’s been waiting for the fuckwit to say something. Digging himself out of his own grave is going to take a bit more than that weak confession.

“Say the actual word sorry and I’ll consider not setting your tent of fire tonight.” His threat is met with a bewildered stare.

“Huh?” Bellamy ungracefully huffs, shifting in his crouched position unnecessarily.

“Your apology isn’t accepted.”

“I wasn’t apologizing,” Bellamy continues, having the balls to even look confused.

“Then why the fuck am I here?” Murphy angrily spits, the water skin in his hand crumpling under his white-knuckle grip.

“No, Murph,” Bellamy suddenly sighs, looking far too tired for his own good, “I was saying I’m really into you… I probably should have said that.”

Murphy wants to say something in reply. Really, he does. Maybe an apology of his own. Or even something like ‘ _yeah, I’m madly into you too.’_

Instead, his body decides to all but fling him across the king-sized tent and right into Bellamy’s arms. His words come out as desperate open-mouthed kisses. His confessions coming across as tight hands worming their way into Bellamy’s warm jacket. He would blame probably still being drunk for it, but he knows better. This is their picture. And it’s the one he wants to keep for the rest of his life. No matter how short or unpredictable it will be on this deadly Earth.

 

~

 

Bellamy doesn't wait much longer to make his move and there's certainly nothing muffling Murphy's more...vocal side this time round. Bellamy kisses the tipsy fool as he undresses him. Over and over until his lips regain feeling. There's something gutturally satisfying in the way Murphy's whimpers turn to all out groans against his open mouth as he impatiently preps his lover. The delinquents first shout as Bellamy slides in that little bit too soon is so loud and dirty it **_has_** to echo through the whole camp. The rest are even better.

Really, it's...the best sex they've ever had. Being able to hear Murphy finally, after everything they've been through is like flicking on a dusty old lightbulb in Bellamy's brain. 

Murphy wants him too. Always has. It's there in his steel gripped hands over Bellamy's shoulders. His wanton parted lips. His fucked out, loose hole. The two exact things Bellamy leaves both hands lightly tracing after they’re both spent.

"I'm sorry," the words are pressed quietly into Murphy's shuddering shoulder blade but Bellamy’s knows they get through.

"Me too." Bellamy likes the way Murphy's breath tickles the pad of his thumb. He hopes that endless draw in and out never ceases while he's still on this earth.

That's all they need to say really, but Bellamy relents his greedy fingers from Murphy's lips and ass to cling the younger delinquent closer to him, just in case. 

 

~

 

"Please tell me I'm not the only one that heard...that." Monroe all but squeaks, gesturing toward Bellamy's tent. 

"Nope," Harper mutters back, she's clutching Monty's arm like a life line.

The innocent gesture has Clarke sending her a pitiful look. 

"Come on guys, gossiping is useless." The blonde tries, but something about the wicked grin spreading across Raven's face is telling her this isn't going to be let go of anytime soon.

"DUDES," Finn screeches from apparently nowhere, shoving his way into the groups gathered circle, his voice a faux whispered shout, "I THINK BELLAMY AND MURPHY ARE A THING!"

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." Miller deadpans from his side, sending a pointed glare to where Bellamy can be heard growling lowly about Murphy mounting his throne for round two.

"I'm gonna be sick," is all Jasper can say before he's starts stumbling to wherever as far away from the offending tent as possible is.

"I can't believe you guys really hadn't figured that out yet," Monty sounds utterly perplexed at their shock, but everyone can see the little bit of doubt in his eyes. Like he was still only half speculating himself.

"So it really wasn't a pair of monkeys I heard going at it a few nights ago..." the horrified look Finn gets in return from the others around him means they've probably had similar thoughts in the past. Oh god. 

A clear voice rings across the groups little murmurs and sniggers suddenly and all eyes guilty turn to where the younger Blake sibling is hovering by her own tent. Why, oh, why did she have to have a fight with Lincoln and storm out of his cave **_tonight_** of all fucking nights?

"We are never speaking of this again," is all she harshly states, sending each of them a withering stare before her blanched face retreats into her tent again. 

"If only it was soundproof in there." Harper innocently murmurs with a defeated sigh.

It's about then that Raven finally loses it, her howling laughter echoing across the camp and into the crisp night sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried.


End file.
